


Everything You Do Is Sin

by nothingelsematters



Series: Liar [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Deacury AND Maylor, Hooking up, John POV, Liar, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, and lace, lots of tight black pants mentioned, sexy Red Special playing, sexy bass playing, sexy drumming, sexy singing, video filming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 05:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16886643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingelsematters/pseuds/nothingelsematters
Summary: They're filming Liar. The outfits do NOT help with John's crush on Freddie...but he doesn't realise his own outfit is having quite the same effect.





	Everything You Do Is Sin

**Author's Note:**

> *nervous* My first foray into Queen fic, which I didn't even know existed until I started looking for BoRhap fic. Hope it's okay. I'm out of smut writing practice too so I hope that turned out all right.
> 
> If you haven't seen the official video for Liar, I highly recommend it. With a warning of sweet Jesus fuck these boys are hot and the whole video is extremely suggestive. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oU7rqB9E_0M
> 
> It's not required viewing before reading, but it may assist with the imagery.

John tugged nervously at the sleeves of his black velvet jacket. He was grateful for it; it made him feel slightly less…exposed, which was a hard ask given the fact that his shirt had a full lace front. The pants, while tight, were at least comfortable. He looked at himself in the mirror somewhat glumly.

 _I polish up all right for plain ol’ Deaky, but I’ll be nothing next to the rest of them._ He winced as he remembered the conversation overhead between two girls at the next table in the coffee shop. They hadn’t even known he was there as they had excitedly discussed which Queen member they’d like to be fucked by. Freddie, Brian and Roger had all got a mention, but they’d _howled_ with laughter at the thought of John.

As if in echo to his thoughts, the door to the dressing room burst open and Roger came barging in. The drummer, John thought, looked like a sin, with only his open black sequined vest on top and no shirt, the tight black pants, the necklace, the leather-lace band wrapped around his right bicep. His golden hair was tousled just slightly and his eyes were widened with eyeliner and mascara.

John didn’t think it was wrong to be attracted to his bandmates, but he knew they’d never look twice back at him.

“Deaky! There you are. Freddie was looking for you. Said he had the crowning touch to your outfit. Here, let me put it on you.”

And then Roger was all up in his space, practically pinning John to the wall, and John found it rather difficult to breathe, with Roger’s wide blue eyes right in front of him and the hot puffs of his warm breath on John’s skin and his chest pressed up against his –

Roger produced a – something – of black lace and John looked at it, confused, before realising it was some sort of choker. Roger lifted it and fastened it around his neck. It felt somehow constraining and freeing at the same time, as though restricting the shyer part of his personality and freeing the part that wouldn’t mind setting his hands on Roger’s hips and seeing what happened…

“What _are_ you doing, Rog?”

Roger pulled back with a cheeky grin and wink, flipped his hair and said, “Why, Brian, I’m just making sure Deaky is fully dressed. You wouldn’t want me to let him go on-stage without being ready, would you?”

If Roger looked like a sin, then Brian looked like one of those demons sent to tempt you into sin. Oh, on the outside he seemed respectable enough, but underneath, when dressed like he was now, in the lace-front shirt with the big bell sleeves that only served to make the movements of his long body even more graceful, the silver cuff on his left bicep accentuating his wiriness, and those long, long fingers wrapped around the neck of the Red Special, he looked…edible.

Brian’s eyes settled on him, and for a moment John felt like one of Brian’s many papers about the stars; analysed and picked apart far too closely.

“He looks fine, Rog. Freddie’s idea, the choker? It suits you, John.” And he gave John one of his warm smiles that felt like being wrapped in a fuzzy sweater. “Come on, we’re due on stage any moment.”

John picked up his bass and followed them, silently, watching the way Brian and Roger fell into step, the way their shoulders brushed just slightly every so often. He wondered if they were together. The two of them seemed to gravitate around one another. Idly, John wondered if Brian had come up with some kind of astrophysicist theory about why this might be so. He giggled at the thought.

“In a good mood, Deaky?” Roger grinned back over his shoulder. “That’s good, don’t know how you can be, really. I hate these sorts of performances.”

“That’s because there’s no crowd to feed off,” Brian replied, somehow managing to sound both amused and irritated at the same time. “Just the cameras, and they don’t provide feedback.”

“Or they make us stop mid-song and do it again,” John added quietly. “That’s the worst. I lose my rhythm.”

Roger dropped back a step and bumped his hip against John’s. “You and me both, mate.”

They stood patiently, waiting for both the director to indicate his readiness, and Freddie. Brian slung the Red Special over his shoulder and began strumming it mindlessly, checking the tune; yet it was still so musical, the start of something, John thought. He listened more closely, but before he could identify it – or store it away in his mind for later – they were interrupted by the arrival of their frontman.

“There you all are, my darlings. I hope you’re ready.”

John’s brain promptly short-circuited.

If Roger was sin, and Brian was a temptation, then Freddie was Satan himself, and John would happily sacrifice his immortal soul to him.

It wasn’t even the tight pants that showed off Freddie’s backside so beautifully, or the jeweled belt, or the silver cuff on his left arm the match of Brian’s, or even the way his shirt was open in a wide vee; not even the chain-mail gauntlet or white glove. It was the necklace, the black lace choker with the pendants, the more elaborate twin of the one around John’s own neck.

Which Freddie had picked out for him.

Why had Freddie picked out a matching choker for John?

John’s heart pounded painfully as a newborn thought poked its hopeful head up through his chest.

Roger had said Freddie thought it was _the crowning touch_. Did Freddie particularly think that John would look good in the choker? That John would look good wearing something to _match_ Freddie?

The choker felt very tight all of a sudden, restricting his ability to breathe. He swallowed several times as he realised that Brian and Roger had gone ahead and Freddie was moving past him. Even as he did, the singer stopped, looked across at John, and lifted one finger to trace the lace pattern across John’s throat.

“You look _fantastic_ , darling,” he purred, and then moved out onto the stage, John almost tripping over his feet in his haste to follow.

The directors were giving them directions, which Freddie was arguing with them about. It seemed the directors wanted them to _mime_ , and if John was any judge of his bandmates’ expressions, he knew it was not at all to their taste. Not that he was any different; he _loathed_ miming. It was demeaning to their abilities.

As usual, however, he stayed to the back, out of the argument, listening to Freddie’s irate tone, then Brian’s voice dripping with irritated sarcasm, before Roger’s angry voice soared above them all.

“John agrees, don’t you John? You don’t want to pretend?”

John shook his head. The choker rubbed on his skin and he found his voice. “No. It’s stupid. We should play the song. Besides, it’s not like they can’t just dub the song over our performance at the end.”

The director scowled at John as Freddie renewed his argument, but John couldn’t find it in himself to care. He plucked at the strings, aimlessly; something was lurking there, something just below the surface, he could bring it out if he had a little help…

Behind him, he heard a faint tapping on the drums in the same rhythm as his fingers. Opening his eyes, he saw Roger, clearly bored with the argument, drumming along with him. Roger gave him another wink.

They continued in this way for a moment, then he heard the faint strains of an electric guitar starting to weave notes through their rhythm, and Brian was grinning at both of them, also clearly bored by the argument. His smile was so naughty it almost made John stop breathing again.

“See? Look at them! Your direction is so boring they’re getting creative. If we don’t just get on with it, they’ll be in full songwriting mode.” John snuffed a laugh at Freddie’s obvious exasperation. It was true that sometimes when they just started playing like this they had a tendency to get carried away.

It seemed to work. The director huffed directions and finally things were happening.

“Okay darlings, we’re going to go full out like we’re at a concert. All right?”

There were murmurs of agreement behind him. John nodded. He knew what that meant. It meant that Freddie was going to be moving around the stage as provocatively as possible, and that was just going to doom poor John.

The director signaled that he was ready, and the cameras started rolling.

After a beat, John heard the familiar notes of Roger tapping the intro onto the cowbells, and as it built, he felt his body beginning to relax into the music. The music was the place he felt most at home. He forgot the cameras, forgot the world outside the studio, even his own insecurities about being _plain ol’ Deaky_ and just let the music happen.

He began to strum along to the beat, letting Roger guide them as he always did. And then Brian slammed down on the Red Special and John felt his adrenaline spike as the song began in earnest.

He watched as Brian moved across, towards Freddie; they shared an almost heated look before Brian was moving away again, still shredding. It didn’t stop Freddie from continuing to look, his hips tilted in an interested way. John felt a flash of jealousy run through him, much to his surprise. Well, of course Freddie would be interested in Brian; who wouldn’t be, especially in this moment, with Brian playing his crazy solo?

Freddie retreated, doing some zany stretching exercise next to John, who was sure he knew _exactly_ how good his ass looked in those tight pants. But then he was backing across the stage again, coming into John’s vision for a brief moment, and he shot John a _look_ that left John feeling scalded, blushing and grateful that the lights came down for the quiet intro to the lyrics.

“ _I have sinned dear father, father I have sinned_ …”

Freddie’s voice was perfect, as always. John felt his fingers move to the strings almost on autopilot as the song continued. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the director’s scowl begin to lessen as he realised that yes, Queen performing _live_ was much better than Queen _miming_. He resisted the urge to poke his tongue out at him.

He stayed back, near Roger and the drums, where he could be a little more hidden compared his more talented and attractive bandmates. He wasn’t anticipating what happened when they reached the chorus; Roger’s raspy, rock-n-roll scream of _liar!_ into the mic sent a quick thrill up John’s spine and saw an extremely heated look shot from Brian on the other mic in their direction.

Sometimes it was a curse having three bandmates with lovely voices.

Somehow during the guitar solo the four of them began to congregate, Brian moving back towards the drum platform and Freddie standing with one foot on it, watching as Roger drummed with everything he hand. Occasionally, he would lean towards John, and John absorbed every moment of those little leans, sure they were all he’d get.

And then Freddie screamed _Listen!_ and John suddenly, very forcibly, remembered that _his_ voice was on this track, and then Freddie crowded up against his front, thrusting one leg forward so that they were touching, leaning into John almost tauntingly with the microphone forward, leaning forward so that they could sing into it together.

John felt like he was burning under his skin and barely managed to get out the first _all day long_ , but when he did, for once, he liked the sound of his voice.

Freddie must have, too, because on the next one, he leaned even closer, his face right next to John’s, and the look in his eyes was so dark and heady and _wanting_ that John was lost. Something in him took over, and on the next time, he leaned in too, so close they could practically kiss.

Freddie’s face lit up briefly with a positively _wicked_ grin, and he started moving around so that they were front-to-front, leaning back slightly, inviting –

And John felt some usually-kept-hidden part of himself break free and lean forward, his body towards Freddie, singing into the microphone and following as Freddie began to teasingly move it away. For a very long moment, there was no-one but him and Freddie, and he could feel the sexual tension crackling in the air around them as Freddie taunted and he responded.

Freddie moved away and Brian started shredding and John felt a brief moment of confusion/embarrassment/loss, but then Freddie shot him another look and that was all it took for John to lose all inhibition. Whatever else came of it, he _wanted_ Freddie, and he was going to make sure Freddie knew it.

So as Brian’s shredding reached its peak, John threw himself into his solo with extra gusto, each note sharp and crisp and as well as he’d ever played it. Brian shot him an approving look as he threaded in the high notes but otherwise kept the Special quiet, allowing John his moment in the spotlight. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Roger smiling.

Then Brian was back into it again and Freddie was singing, and John knew all his inhibitions had left him because he turned back to dais and as the rhythm reached its peak, he leaned in towards Roger, who made sure to deliberately turn and lean towards him, a rather sexy smirk playing over his lips. They were one beat, John thought dreamily, the two of them so in sync they may as well be one person.

The song ended on the usual crescendo of cymbals and notes from Brian, and then they were left panting on the stage, looking at each other with the unbridled glee that came from _knowing_ they’d nailed it.

“Cut! Take five everyone!”

And just like that, the bubble burst.

John followed the others listlessly off the stage, wondering what to do with the adrenaline and boldness currently racing through his veins. He stopped to get a drink. Freddie had rushed past without so much as looking at him, and Brian and Roger seemed in a hurry too. He was alone. For several minutes he stood there, looking at the plastic cup in his hand; none of his bandmates returned.

Suddenly the bold side of him announced, _Fuck it! You’re going to approach Freddie and confront him. Do it!_

John began walking towards the corridor that led to the dressing-rooms, purpose filling his step. Yes, he was going to confront Freddie about the whole day. At the least, he could find out if Freddie liked him. They could take it step by step from there –

John’s brain short-circuited for a second time that day as he turned the corner.

_At least you know why Brian and Roger were in such a hurry then._

Brian had Roger pinned to the wall; Roger’s legs were wrapped around Brian’s waist, his pants hanging off his ankles, and Brian’s own pants were shoved down his thighs, giving John a clear view of Brian fucking frantically into Roger; the drummer’s head was thrown back against the wall, his breathy moans a rhythm all of its own; Brian’s lips were pressed against his throat, and his fingers were tangled in the mop of dark curls.

John felt his body heat up faster than a lightning flash; he knew he should move, walk away, _look_ away, something, anything, but for some reason he was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch the passionate coupling before him.

And then Roger’s head tipped sideways, and his eyes opened, and John found himself staring into those blue depths, and knew he was dead, one way or another.

But Roger just moaned louder, until Brian lifted his head to shut him up with a kiss, and god, that was hotter than John had thought possible, watching Brian’s tongue in Roger’s mouth, god help him, he was getting hard in his pants…

Suddenly he was jolted back to reality by a hand on his arm, and he whirled around, prepared to defend himself and potentially block the view from whoever was behind him; but it was only Freddie, who cast a slightly disdainful look at the pair before meeting John’s eyes with an earnest gaze.

“Deaky, darling, are you all right?”

As if he was able to speak! John nodded. Freddie frowned. “Why don’t you come with me?”

John followed, wordlessly, barely able to function for the image that sprang to life in his mind, of _him_ being the one against the wall and _Freddie_ pinning him there…nervously, he shifted his bass to cover the fact that his cock was now very much straining against these ridiculously tight pants.

Freddie had taken him back into his dressing room, with its sumptuous couch and so much bling John’s eyes almost hurt. He came to as he realised Freddie had poured him a shot of vodka.

“You look like you need this, darling,” he smiled, handing it to John, but there was caution in his eyes, and the realisation hit John like one of Roger’s drum solos.

_Freddie thinks I’m traumatised by what I saw. He thinks I’m upset!_

The choker rubbed at his skin, and John felt emboldened once more.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said, trying to inject some confidence in his voice. It must have been a partial success, because Freddie’s eyebrows were raised and he came to sit next to John on the couch.

“Really?” John suppressed a shiver as Freddie’s voice dipped into its lower range. “You just caught two of our bandmates fucking against a wall and you’re _good_?”

John shrugged.

“I saw the way you were frozen,” Freddie continued, his voice lightening into a more sympathetic lilt. “If they were making you uncomfortable, I’ll have a word with them. They should keep these things more private.”

_He still thinks you need protecting! Tell him, tell him!_

“Actually,” John blurted out before he could lose courage, “I was frozen because I realised how much I wanted to be taken like that.”

Freddie’s eyes were so wide John felt like he could practically see his own reflection in them. They seemed to go darker as John met his gaze steadily.

“By Brian? Well, I don’t blame you, darling…”

“No.” What the hell, John thought, and threw back the shot quickly. “By _you_.”

Was Freddie blushing? Had he, plain John Deacon, made _Freddie Mercury_ blush?

Apparently yes, he had.

And then Freddie was leaning in closer, and John couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned forward to meet him.

Their lips brushed and that was it, John was falling, the fire all around him, but he welcomed it, welcomed the burning under his skin, welcomed the lava that was pooling in his gut.

He let out a shuddering sigh as Freddie deepened the kiss, and all the pent-up lust that had been building all day was a raging maelstrom, unable to be contained.

Freddie pulled back, looking at him questioningly, but John just grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled, hard, so that he tumbled backwards and Freddie landed on top of him, his thigh pressed between John’s, and John kissed him with everything he had.

Freddie lost his hesitance after that, his tongue plundering John’s mouth, and John couldn’t help but moan and arch up as he felt Freddie’s fingers rubbing the lace over his nipples.

He knew Freddie had felt his erection against his thigh, because the singer pulled back a moment to look down at him again.

“What do you want, John, my dear? I need you to tell me,” he murmured, dipping his head to mouth along the edge of the choker over his throat.

“You,” John sighed. “All of you.”

“Yes, but doing _what_?” There was a ghost of laughter in Freddie’s voice; he thought John inexperienced. Well, he wasn’t wrong; but John Deacon was a man who knew what he wanted and went out and got it.

He grabbed Freddie’s hair and pulled him up so that they could look each other directly in the eye.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Freddie shivered, a full-body motion that ran interestingly from his toes – still brushing John’s ankles – to his head.

“Oh, god, _yes_ ,” he groaned, and dived straight back down to kiss John with force. John arched up again, trying to signal to Freddie how very much he liked this, and started as he felt Freddie’s own erection pressing against his hip.

Freddie pulled back again, and John whined his complaint. Freddie touched a finger to his lips.

“Hush darling. I just wanted us to undress. We don’t have a lot of time, so it’d be faster if we undressed ourselves. This time,” he added, and his eyes were dark with promise.

It wasn’t how John imagined his first time with Freddie to be, but those dark eyes had promised him _later_ , and this was way hotter. He nodded his agreement and quickly wriggled out of his pants, struggling more with the shirt from his position. But when he went to remove the choker, Freddie’s hands stopped him.

“No, my dear. Leave that on. I love the way it looks on your divine throat.”

“Leave yours on too,” John replied, and Freddie grinned salaciously.

“Oh, I plan on it,” he laughed, and then he was naked and all over John again.

The couch was not especially comfortable from this angle, and John knew they were pressed for time. Still, he took his time enjoying the different sensations Freddie was awakening in his body, the way his nipples hardened and became more sensitive; the spot on his forearm which sent tingles up his spine when Freddie licked it. In turn, he found quickly the sensitive spot on Freddie’s shoulder that elicited some rather delightful cries, and didn’t miss the way Freddie shuddered when he rocked his erection against his thigh.

Freddie moved downwards, his mouth moving over John’s stomach, until he felt warm breath over his cock, making it twitch and leak. John watched, his eyes wide, wanting to absorb this every moment of what Freddie was doing.

And then Freddie swallowed his cock down and John almost screamed at the sensation, using all his willpower not to orgasm straight away. He was concentrating so hard on not coming that he almost didn’t notice the cool, lube-coated finger trailing around his hole.

Freddie set up a rhythm, sucking and licking and humming, oh god the _humming_ , and just when John thought he couldn’t get any harder, one finger slipped inside him.

He didn’t even get a warning out before he came with a shout, his hips bucking up wildly into Freddie’s mouth, and even as Freddie drank him down, leaving John almost sobbing with pleasure, another finger slipped inside.

It took John a few moments to come back to himself, and when he did, he felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t,” Freddie murmured huskily, burying his nose into John’s throat. “It was very beautiful, darling. I’d like to make you do that again.”

John opened his mouth to say something about refractory periods – he wasn’t _that_ much younger than Freddie! – but then Freddie twisted his fingers and all capacity for speech temporarily abandoned him.

He reached up to kiss Freddie instead, pushing his own tongue forward this time, and Freddie’s mouth tasted…different from before. It took John a few moments to realise that it was his own come he was tasting, and that was enough to make his dick twitch again.

Freddie chuckled as he felt it against his thigh, and continued working John open, adding a third finger and letting John’s stomach do an interesting twist.

“Oh – god – Freddie, please, please…” he hardly knew what he was saying, only that he knew he wanted Freddie inside him more than he’d ever wanted anything before in his life.

“What is it, darling? Tell me what you want.”

The fingers twisted again and John let out a high wailing cry, uncaring if anyone heard him.

“I need you to fuck me, please!”

The fingers disappeared, and John couldn’t help the keening noise that left his throat at the sudden emptiness. Then Freddie was moving back and tapping John’s thigh.

“John, darling, sit up.” John couldn’t speak; he gave Freddie what he hoped was his most confused look. It must have worked, because Freddie explained, “The couch is too narrow. I can’t fuck you properly on this angle.”

Oh. Well that made sense. John managed, somehow, to haul himself more-or-less upright, to see Freddie seated on the couch, his back resting against the back, his legs spread slightly, his cock hard and upright, and John licked his lips unconsciously as he wondered what it would be like to suck on it the way Freddie had done to him.

“Come here,” he said, breaking into John’s thoughts, and John crawled forward. Freddie’s hands on his hips guided him to straddle, and suddenly John understood what Freddie was doing.

“Last chance, darling,” Freddie breathed; his composure was slipping and his skin was flushed and John was fully hard again just looking at him. “Tell me no, and we’ll stop.”

“If you stop,” John grunted as he felt the tightness of Freddie’s grip stopping him from moving down, “I’ll never let you sing one of my songs again.”

That earned him another breathless chuckle, and then he was finally being allowed to lower himself, Freddie’s grip controlling him.

He felt the tip of Freddie’s cock nudge at his entrance, and stiffened on instinct; large hands soothed him, and Freddie’s mouth was back on his throat, humming gentle noises. And then he felt a slight burning as Freddie pushed inside; the burning spread and set his nerve endings on fire and he threw back his head and _wailed_ as he felt skin press against skin and he was seated, and Freddie was fully sheathed in him.

“John? Talk to me, love. Does it hurt?”

John couldn’t talk; the sensations were overwhelming him. It wasn’t pain, oh no. There was some pain, but mostly it was pleasure, burning lust and bright pleasure sparking on his nerves and he wanted more, _needed_ more.

“John?”

With an enormous effort of will, John formed his lips into words. “Please move, god, please move, Fred…”

Freddie rolled his hips, and John felt another cry torn from his lips, his mouth reaching for Freddie’s in a sloppy, messy kiss as he moved again. John tried to push down.

It took only three thrusts for them to find a rhythm; that was what John was made for after all, to find rhythms and _create_ with them and oh god if they didn’t go faster soon he might actually explode.

Freddie seemed to sense this, because he began pushing up harder into John’s body, and John let his face fall into Freddie’s hair, almost sobbing, feeling the harshness of Freddie’s panting against his throat, and that lava was pooling in his gut again, the threat of orgasm building; he needed to be touched, but words were too hard, just too hard when Freddie was moving like that below him…

Then Freddie’s cock nudged something inside him, and John howled, pushing back down immediately to try and find it again. Freddie obliged with a matching thrust up, and John was seeing stars. He could feel Freddie starting to shake, and he wanted so badly to bring him to orgasm. His hands were clutching at Freddie’s hair, and he felt one of Freddie’s hands leave his hips and trace upwards up his spine, causing John to lose his rhythm for a moment, bucking wildly –

Freddie’s fingers tangled in the lace at the back of his neck, drawing the choker tight around John’s throat, and then he _pulled_.

All of John’s breath was cut off in that action, and for a moment he almost disconnected from his body, feeling absolutely nothing but Freddie, Freddie in him and around him and brushing over that spot.

His back arched and his lips were wide in a soundless cry as he came untouched, his come splattering between them. Black spots danced in his vision as the aftershocks continued, and dimly he was aware that Freddie was coming too, with a loud moan that sounded suspiciously like his name, and the sensation of heat flooding inside him made John come again.

Then he blacked out.

*

When he came to, he found himself lying on the couch, Freddie hovering anxiously with a damp clothing, wiping down his body, and a glass of water.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Freddie began as soon as he saw John’s eyes open. “I never should have done that without asking you, I got completely carried away, I could have hurt you, can you forgive me?”

John blinked several times before remembering what Freddie was probably talking about. Gingerly, he touched his throat; it was sore, and there was probably a red mark, but everything seemed otherwise fine.

“You do have a mark,” Freddie said mournfully. “You’ll not be able to wear anything less than a turtleneck for days, my love, I’m so sorry.”

Sensing that Freddie was about to start some serious self-flagellation, John reached up and put a hand to his lips.

“It’s alright,” he said, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. And…I wouldn’t mind if you did it again,” he added shyly. It was an infuriating time to lose all the self-confidence he’d gained during the shoot, but if anything, it made Freddie light up.

“You’re sure, my love?”

“Positive.” John smiled at him, and then was struck by a thought. “And maybe if I have a mark, I’ll just have to keep wearing this.” He fingered the choker, and Freddie laughed, the sort of laugh that said that if he hadn’t just come he’d be interested in another round.

“You are precious, John,” he declared softly, and leaned in to kiss him. This was different; softer, more tender, a quiet joining of their mouths and souls. John blossomed under the kiss, returning it in like fashion, and a calm peace spread through him.

“Fred?” he murmured when the other man drew back. “I really like you, Fred.”

Freddie drew in a breath.

“My darling – my _dearest_ John – I never thought…I like you too, John. Have since you joined us with that disarming little smile.”

The revelation floored John. Freddie – Freddie _liked_ him?

“You like me?” he whispered. “Me, plain ol’ John Deacon?”

“Plain?” Freddie looked scandalized. “John, my dear one, whoever told you that, don’t listen. You are _beautiful_.”

And looking up at Freddie, the way Freddie looked back at him, John believed him.

The moment was ruined when the door opened and Roger burst in, followed by Brian, both now fully clothed again.

“Oy, you two, the director wants-!” They both stopped abruptly at the sight of the two naked men entwined on the sofa. John let out a sated giggle and simply curled himself further into Freddie, who was giving the other two what could only be described as a murder glare.

Roger broke the silence first, dissolving into laughter that had John burying his face to hide his embarrassment and feeling horribly self-conscious. What if Roger thought he wasn’t worthy of Freddie? What if…

“Finally,” Brian remarked drily. “I was wondering how long it was going to take.”

“I could have cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife!”

“Tension is intangible, Rog, it can’t be affected by physical actions like cutting…”

“It’s a _metaphor,_ Brian!”

“Would you two kindly _get out_?” Freddie asked in his most dangerous voice.

“Yes, let’s leave the lovebirds to get dressed,” Roger chirped, dragging Brian behind him. “Hurry up, the director wants us back on in ten.”

“Like you can talk!” John managed to shout after them.

The door closed, and silence reigned before Freddie rose with a sigh.

“Come on then, my love, we’d best get dressed.”

“Only if you promise to undress me again later,” John replied without thinking. He blushed immediately, but Freddie had already swooped over to kiss him.

“Oh, I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there's more in this universe because their live performances were just as much them musically fucking one another as anything else.
> 
> Also, in case you're wondering why I specifically mentioned their armbands, Google suggests to me that in gay culture armbands can suggest sexual preference, namely left = top, right = bottom, and once I read that, my eyes could not stop seeing that Brian and Freddie were wearing matching armbands on their left arms, and Roger was wearing his on the right. (John doesn't wear one in the video.)


End file.
